San  Itattrtenr  (Jfollejt  far  iBxmtm 


1  1BKARV 


NINETTE 

A  REDWOODS  IDYLL 


BY 

JOHN  VANCE   CHENEY 

AUTHOR  or  "THISTLE-DRIFT,"  "WOOD  BLOOMS,"  "THE  GOLDEN  GUESS,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

M.  ISABELLE  MORRISON 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

WILLIAM   DOXEY 

1894 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


6/7  A 


Copyright,  1893,  by 
WILLIAM  DOXEY. 


1149&3 


TO 
JANET  AND  EVELYN  HOPE  CHENEY 


WAS  in  the  days  when  through  the  Golden  Gate 
The  good  ships  bore  the  builders  of  a  State. 
Why  was  it  royal  Adolph  could  not  be 
Hail-fellow  in  this  lordly  company, 
Lordly  as  ever  from  the  ends  of  earth 
Was  drawn  and  marshalled  for  a  city's  birth  ? 
The  palaces  of  chance  with  clinking  stream 
Of  silver,  ringing  showers  of  gold, —  the  dream 
Of  Danae  come  true,  they  were  for  him. 
And  yet  the  fine  gold,  how  was  it  waxed  dim! 
By  day  and  night  the  gilded  ways  he  strode, 
Stalwart  as  any;   out  the  Mission  Road 
Dashed  side  by  side  with  maddest  cavalier 
That  jingled  spur ;   but  ever  in  his  ear 
Sounded  the  counsel  of  the  white-haired  sire, 
Whom  he  had  rescued  from  the  hamlet  fire. 


Glorious  old  roamer!   many  years  before 
Famed  Forty -Nine  he  knew  the  Golden  Shore; 
And  well  a  youth  might  heed  the  thing  he  said, 
Bending  benignantly  his  noble  head 
As  bend  the  oaks  of  Napa  when  they  lean 
To  meet  the  wild  oat  in  its  April  green. 

"  In  olden  woods  the  rarest  mosses  be, 
Old  heads  are  white  with  treasure.     Come  to  me." 
These  were  the  words,  too  round  to  be  denied  ; 
And  then  was  there  not  something  said  beside, 
About  the  "bird"  Ninette,  "her  mother's  child, 
Orphaned  down  in  the  burning  southern  wild"? 
These  last  were  chance  words,  dropped  in  by  the  way, 
But  to  a  young  heart  —  let  the  young  hearts  say. 

"In  olden  woods" — it  echoed  on  and  on; 
The  boat  slipped  from  her  mooring,  the  boy  was  gone. 
Slow  out  of  sight  Yerba  Buena  passed, 
Next  rusty  Alcatraz,  and  Angel  last ; 
Behind,  now,  lay  the  windy  town,  the  bay 
Rippling  and  glistening  in  the  perfect  day; 
Before,  the  valley  of  the  oat  and  oak. 


tj 


Ere  long  lulled  off  to  slumber,  when  he  woke 
'T  was  time  to  quit  the  boat,  and  with  a  will 
To  thrid  the  oaks  far  as  the  western  hill, 
Where  the  guide,  Cactus,  waited  in  the  shade. 
The  wind  was  stirring,  and  the  bur-oaks  laid 
Great  shadows,  black  along  the  blanching  grass, 
Matted  so  thick  it  would  not  let  him  pass 
Where  it  was  rankest ;   clear,  between  the  swells 
Of  wind,  clear,  merry,  rang  the  blackbird  bells, 
While  gurgling  music,  hurrying  note  to  note, 
Spilled  from  the  starling's  overflowing  throat. 
And  it  was  twilight  ere  he  reached  the  guide 
Lounging  upon  the  scenty  mountain-side, 
Young,  dusky  Cactus,  lithe  and  debonair 
A  slave  as  ever  fawned  on  lady  fair ; 
And  deep  the  sun  was  sunk  into  the  west 
The  hour  they  reached  the  Redwoods  and  the  "  Nest/' 


7T  WAS  dawn ;   at  the  first  calling  of  the  quail 
Adolph  appeared.     Below,  the  oaken  vale 
And  plunging  spines  of  interjacent  hills 
Were  all  in  fog,  the  dense  white  fog  that  fills 
The  world  up,  there,  till  broad-backed  ranges  be 
Mere  porpoises  swimming  a  vapor  sea. 
High  over  the  white  sea  the  sire  had  set 
His  hearty  morning  meal.     No  others  yet 
Were  stirring,  and  the  two,  as  hill-gods  might, 
Sat  there,  and  ate,  then  storied  till  the  light 
Was  in  full  glory ;   when  strode  they  forth,  again 
And  yet  again  to  scan  their  great  domain. 

" Helena's  cap  is  off;   now  is  the  hour; 
Behold  it,  boy, —  old  Mother  Nature's  power  ! " 
It  was  the  sire,  not  half  his  welcome  said, 
Hymning  his  Redwoods  heaven  as  on  he  led. 

u  Here  has  she  set  on  high,  and  there  laid  low, 
As  pleased  her.     Guttruff  from  yon  rock  can  throw 
The  sight  across  seven  ranges;  turn  that  way, 
And  he  can  count  the  white  sails  on  the  bay. 
How  now  ?    And  there  be  wonders  in  the  West  ? 
We  hear  the  stars  here,  we  in  Eagle  Nest." 


The  squirrels  flowing    - 

round  them,  the  pert  jay 

Mocking  the  hawks,  the  highholes  at  their  play,  y 
The  golden-robin  with  his  vigorous  tune 
Singing  his  heart  into  the  heart  of  June; 
The  lusty  quail  lifting  amid  it  all 
The  happiest  mountain  sound,  wild  love's  own  call, — 
Attended  thus,  moved  slowly  sire  and  guest 
Till  come  upon  the  "one  bird"  of  the  Nest. 
'T  was  in  one  of  those  fringy,  winding  places 
Where  close  the  clover-velvet  interlaces. 
And  the  dwarf  oak  and  little  evergreen. 
Lovers,  in  one  another's  arms  are  seen. 
Under  a  manzanita,  glossy,  dark. 
Her  yellow  head,  leaned  on  its  winy  bark, 
Made  sunlight  there.   "  Sire,"  Adolph  sighed,  "  all  Greece 
Might  well  have  sailed  to  fetch  that  golden  fleece/' 
Nor  was  the  sighing  fainter  since  the  child 
Was  woman  rather,  blossoming  in  the  wild, 
With  song  and  laughter.     It  was  lesson -time, 
And,  taught  of  brooks,  she  rippled  rhyme  to  rhyme :— 


"  Catch-fly,  clocks,  and  columbine, 
Whose  am  I  if  he  is  mine  ? 

"  Blue-curls,  bindweed,  baby-eyes, 
Love  is  cruel  when  he  tries. 

"  Hound's-tongue,  nightshade,  meadow-rue, 
I'll  have-lover  none  but  you. 

"  Pin-bloom,  pipe-vine,  pimpernel, 
This,  sweet  naughty,  you  know  well 

"  Shepherd's-purse  and  shooting-star, 
Strangest  folk  all  lovers  are. 

u  Silverweed  and  thimbleberry, 
Ho,  my  heart,  but  we  are  merry ! 

"  Bleeding-heart  and  virgin's-bower, 
Now  it  is  the  lover's  hour. 


"  Stonecrop,  stickseed,  tiger-lily, 
He  will  love  me  — will  he,  will  he? 

''Knot-grass  and  forget-me-not, 
Let  him  swear  it  on  the  spot." 


v      i    t 

' 


"  THE  larkspur,  painted-brush  and  poppy  flame, 
Ay,  every  peeping  sweet  without  a  name, 
All,  in  those  sunsets  under  foot  ;   the  hues 
Of  purple  and  of  scarlet,  greens  and  blues, 
How  have  those  beauties  all  their  beauty  blown 
Into  one  blossom,  all  the  flow'ret's  own 
That  woke,  one  morn,  and  was  a  human  face!" 
Adolph  leaned  forward,  poised  as  for  the  chase. 
And  carolling  Ninette?     The  list'ning  wood 
Breathed  out  a  shape  to  her.     So  bright  he  stood 
She  could  not  tell  whether  he  was  of  earth 
Or  owed  the  old  divinities  his  birth, 
Sent  down  to  be  her  father's  friend,  since  he 
So  honored  them.     Her  blood  ran  riot,  she 
Could  feel  the  traitor  shame-spots  creep  and  grow 
The  ruddy  god — would  he  not  see,  not  know 
^    Each  silly  thought,  and  tell  it,  too,  and  set 
//    All  heaven  a-laughing?    Innocent  Ninette, 

A  silly  child  indeed  to  bleed  with  shame 
Before  a  god  that  could  not  speak  her  name, 
So  dumb  he  was;   one  to  be  led  away 
That  he  might  arm  to  woo  another  day. 


Age  yet  may  serve  young  love.     High  on  the  rock 
Whence  shines  the  bay,  our  lover  could  unlock 
His  tongue;   unsparing  spent  he  on  and  on 
Until  it  seemed  all  love's  best  words  were  gone. 
The  good  sire  heard,  but  as  one  hears  in  dream; 
His  mind  was  back  there  by  the  bay.     The  gleam, 
The  growing  wind,  the  smoke,  the  jam  of  drays, 
The  furious  hurry  in  the  narrow  ways ; 
At  last  the  wall,  the  fragile,  hanging  wall, 
And  then  the  cheering — and  the  blank.     Life,  all, 
Again  7t  was  saved  him  by  the  peerless  boy, 
And  in  a  torrent  broke  his  father's  joy: — 
"  Once  more,  once  more,  kind  gods,  I  find  a  man 
To  lift  the  heart  up.     Stand,  Greek  Puritan, 
That  I  may  look,  gaze  till  my  sight,  long  dull, 
Whets  it  upon  you,  strong  and  beaiitiful. 
Methinks  those  were  your  fellows,  brown -haired  boy, 
Who  brewed  the  storm  before  the  walls  of  Troy; 
There  had  you  buckled  armor  with  the  best, 
Shining  to  stir  the  hovering  goddess'  breast. 


if'* 


I  said,  to-morrow  you  should  go  to  dig, 
To  gorge  you  in  the  tawny  hills  j  but,  big 
With  fondness,  I  so  tyrannous  am  grown 
I  will  to  keep  you.  Leave  me  not  alone 
Till  th'  autumn  rains.  The  gold  will 

wait.     Boy,  know 
Here  in  the  wild  I  wandered  years  ago, 
And  can,  asleep,  discourse  of  rock  and  sand 
To  plague  your  wisest.   Put  in  mine  your  hand : 
You  shall  have  gold  in  heaps,  then,  surfeited, 
(If  she  will  yield  it)  her  own  golden  head. 
For  two  years,  boy,  she  bides  my  one  bird  still, 
And  then,  why,  then  as  she  and  Heaven  will."  SH* 

THE  summer  went  ;   and  overhead  the  gray 
Was  growing  on  the  blue.     If  graver  lay 
Ninette  sang  now,  the  measure  ran  too  free 
For  true-love  bonds,  for  captive  minstrelsy : — 


K*' 


"  Bun  away,  love,  and  leave  to  me 
The  way  of  the  bird  and  the  way  of  the  bee : 

Flower  to  flower  down  to  the  mead, 
Mead  to  mead  over  the  vale, 

Vale  to  vale  as  the  sunbeams  lead, 
On  to  the  sea  and  the  endless  sail. 

"  No,  no,  love,  I  will  not  stop, 
The  butterfly  swings  in  the  thistle-top  j 

Rock,  rock,  in  the  sunny  weather, 
Song  of  the  bird  and  sweet  of  the  bee, 

Just  the  day  and  I  together, — 
That's  the  life  and  the  love  for  me. 

"  Fie,  fie,  love,  bliss  enough  for  me 
The  song  of  the  bird,  the  sweet  of  the  bee : 

Flower  to  flower  down  from  the  hill, 
Flower  to  flower  down  to  the  dale, 

Field  to  field  as  the  free  winds  will, 
Ho,  for  the  sea  and  the  endless  sail ! " 


p* 


V 


"  Nay,  Nature ;  flowers  will  waken  at 

her  feet, 

Untimely,  wrongly  flourish  in  the  sweet 
Of  her  false  Spring.    Ay,  quickened,  they  will  blow ; 
Like  her,  will  wake  and  waste,  and  never  know." 
So  grieved  the  boy  the  while  he  secret  heard 
The  burden  of  the  merry  Redwoods  bird. 
Lorn  Adolph!     Song  that  can  deceive  the  year 
May  be  too  subtle  for  a  lover's  ear ; 
Chance,  other  measures  sang  the  merry  bird 
Deep  in  her  heart. 


Aud  now  the  sky  was  blurred, 
And  over  hill  and  valley  woven  and  spread 
Dull,  slumbrous  color  for  the  season  dead. 
The  sire  could  not  sit  calmly  at  his  door 
And  let  the  boy  go,  but,  well  on  before, 
His  voice  startling  the  rabbit  and  the  quail, 
Must  see  him  to  the  forking  of  the  trail : 
"  Straight  as  the  pigeon  points  will  run  the  way, 
With  Cactus  for  your  guide.     He  must  not  stay; 
It  is  no  Sabbath  journey,  and  we  need 
The  shoot  of  darkness  here.     The  nightshade-seed 
Is  brother's  dog,  his  crutch ;  and  past  a  doubt  — 
The  voice  dropped  now — the  girl  were  lost  without 
Her  Shadow.     Lad,  the  goddess — does  she  chide 
Or  sway  the  battle  to  my  hero's  side  ? 
How  reads  the  omen?" 

"  I  have  kept  my  vow, 
Good  sire ;    so,  pray  you,  let  me  answer  now." 


A  TWELVE-MONTH  passed  ere  fortune  brought 

the  sire 

Fresh  fuel  for  his  pioneeric  fire: — 
Eight  royal  robbery,  boy !   but  more,  more  yet. 
By  Napa's  oak  and  by  the  bird  Ninette, 
Play  on,  throw  on  5   it  shall  be  kingdoms.     More, 
More  yet,  more,  more.    Away !    But  not  before 
Some  word  be  left  may  please  a  lass's  ear. 
You  scarce  have  seen  Ninette ;   too  sharp,  I  fear, 
The  thorns  of  honor."     Slowly  Adolph  said, 
His  brow  bared,  "Not  the  lightest  little  thread 
That  flies,  far  shining,  from  that  golden  head, 
Or  wanders  down  that  wondrous  neck,  love-led, 
Has  felt  a  breath  from  me." 


Another  June, 

And  Adolph  came  to  hear  the  fairy  tune 
Of  air  and  laughter,  even  the  same  he  heard 
It  seemed  an  age  before.     The  wilding  bird 
Sang  on  the  same  old  elfin-measured  song, 
Trilling  along  the  hills;  the  warm  daylong 
The  same  far  ditty,  while  with  lighter  feet 
The  little  breezes  danced  to  it,  and  sweet 
The  mating  birds,  'mong  the  madrono  boughs, 
Wove  snatches  of  it  in  their  lover's  vows. 
Two  years  had  wrought  a  change.    But  few  days  more 
Were  left  the  uncle ;  haggard,  now,  as  hoar 
Was  he  that  came  to  hide  him  from  his  kind, 
The  scholar,  hurt  in  body  and  in  mind, 
Ninette's  tutor,  from  whom  no  plant  that  grows 
Could  keep  the  secret  of  its  leaves  and  blows. 
Time  had  been  busy:    Gorgon,  grim  old  dog, 
Followed  her  master's  heel  with  feebler  jog, 
While  Hector,  the  pet  elk,  had  sprouted  horn 
Fit  for  the  front  of  vanished  Unicorn. 
And  not  the  same  was  Cactus  5   like  his  charge 
And  playmate,  Hector,  he  had  sprung  to  large 
And  dangerous  size.     To  some  old  tameless  race 
He  pointed,  with  his  native  leopard's  grace 
And  withy  sinew. 


FV, 


I 

X 


And  Ninette,  the  bird, 

The  one  bird  of  the  Nest — love  had  no  word 
To  name  her  change.    "  Good  sire/'  the  lover  said, 
u  The  child,  as  any  eye  may  see,  has  fled, 
And  I  must  woo  a  woman.'' 

"  Jacob,  boy, 

Winced  not  at  plump  seven  year.   The  gods  help  Troy, 
And  great  Achilles  sulks." 

"  Easy  the  gold 

Was  rifled  from  the  sands.     There  was  I  bold 
To  lead ;   could  swing  a  thief  up,  hear  his  groan, 
Unmoved;   for  play  could  break  a  bully's  bone, 
And  laugh,  and  bid  him  mend  it.     Now,  I  whine ; 
Human  am  I,  the  other  is  divine." 

"No  maid  unmans  the  man  can  so  make  stand 
'Gainst  them  that  lord  it  in  a  new-born  land " : 
So  mused  the  tried  old  sire,  and,  musing  so — 
As  once  his  Jove — he  let  the  battle  go. 
The  sire  had  notions.     "Adolph  and  Ninette, 
They  be  a  parlous  pair,"  he  said.     "  Abet, 
Oppose?    Not  I.     No,  not  a  single  word 
To  Alcibiades  or  to  the  bird." 


It  was  down  by  a  spring  that  bubbled  up 

Among  the  hazels ;   with  a  glossy  cup 

Of  leaves,  Ninette  was  dipping,  sipping,  like 

The  smooth  noon-bird  she  was.  "  Strike,  sunlight,  strike 

Her  head ;   and  in  your  pretty  beating  say, 

So  does  love  punish,  neither  will  it  stay 

More  cruel  stroke  if  straight  you  do  not  own 

Your  heart  is  Adolph's,  his,  and  his  alone." 

So  spoke  the  youth  in  thought,  then,  prying  through 

The  maze  of  hazels,  trolled  he  verses  two 

Of  an  old  ditty,— 


"  On  a  day  it  fell 
He  found  a  naiad  by  her  native  well" 
She  turned  on  him  swift  as  the  darting  light 
Sunned  water  glances,  putting  out  his  sight 
With  the  flash  of  beauty, —  "Thus  he  did  begin: 
1  Prithee,  sweet  love,'  and  straight  she  pushed  him  in." 


If,  sire,  your  happy  Hellas  had  its  art 
Supreme,  what  had  this  little  darling  heart 
Here  in  the  wild?     The  while  love's  arrow  sped 
Against  her,  up  she  tossed  her  glossy  head 
In  golden  scorn:  " Play  me  a  tune  of  war, 
The  iron  string,  the  stave  man's  hands  are  for ! 
But  Venus'  viol !  " 


Stung  by  lesser  thing , 
The  lordly  creature  seeks  the  herb  will  bring 
Its  life  back :  Adolph  tasted,  here  and  there, 
All  substances  on  which  large  love  may  fare, 
Sore  wounded.     Now  he  nibbled  at  a  book, 
A  good  old  tome  that  from  its  rusty  nook 
Looked  out  on  him  in  pity ;  now  he  tried 
The  cures  that  grew  the  virgin  brook  beside. 
Where  strayed  the  bright-eyed  scholar, 

breathless,  pale, 

His  friend  at  last.     All  was  of  no  avail  j 
Forthwith  the  maid,  the  lesser,  frailer  thing, 
Was  sure  to  turn  anew  and  softly  sting. 
But,  ah,  the  lonely  upland  roundelay 
She  sang  in  the  clear  space  where  all  the  day 
The  wild  doves  come !    There  with  the  gray 

wild  dove, 
It  was  another  song,  her  song  of  love  : — 


"'Twixt  the  little  oaks  the  sunbeams  pry, 
And,  warm  and  gold,  in  the  open  lie ; 

Yea,  pretty  doves, 

So  many  loves, 
And  to  spare  not  one ! 
There  be  that  have  loves  none. 

"Around  the  doe  plays  the  dappled  fawn, 
The  rabbits  dance  at  dusk  and  at  dawn  ; 

Yea,  pretty  doves, 

So  many  loves, 
And  to  spare  not  one  ! 
There  be  that  have  loves  none. 

"  The  chatting  squirrel,  silver-gray, 
Tells  merry  love-tales  all  the  day ; 

Yea,  pretty  doves, 

So  many  loves, 
Every  heart  with  its  own .; 
And  yet  you  moan,  you  moan." 


THE  little  lonely  upland  song  of  lover 
Crooned  in  the  clear  space  with  the 

mourning-dove, 

This  nature  heard,  and,  down  below,  the  pain 
Of  the  strong  man;   but  came  the  two  again 
Together,  not  a  sound  she  heard  of  all. 
"  The  man  would  stir  my  love  must  fight,  ay,  fall, 
For  me;   and  though  an  angel  came  to  say 
'  Sir  Love  does  love  thee,'  I  would  turn  away " : 
Thus  mischievous  Ninette.     Her  father  gone, 
Her  uncle,  too,  and  Cactus  with  him,  on 
A  happy  plan  she  hit,  aided,  may  be, 
By  certain  nettling  words  dropped  craftily 
By  Hector's  only  master. 

"  Shall  a  man 

Stand  back  for  Hector  ?    What  my  Shadow  can, 
It  seems  a  man  cannot.     Set  Hector  food, 
Prove  Love  for  once  could  make  his  great  words  good." 
"  'T  is  well,"  the  other  answered ;  "  east  or  west, 
Who  challenges  the  Knight  of  Eagle  Nest? 
If  Hector,  joust  with  Hector  let  it  be." 


3  HE  knight  passed  iii  to  face  armed  Hector.  He 
Set  food  ;  Hector,  responding  with  a  thrust, 
Caught  him,  sent  him  down  headlong. 

Mailed  in  dust, 

I     Sir  Love,  no  sooner  down  than  up,  would  try 
P     It  out,  now,  humbled  in  his  lady's  eye. 

'Twixt  sport  and  earnest,  evenly  he  strove 
With  rousing,  pressing  Hector  till  he  drove 
Three  short,  blunt  prongs  into  his  naked  side. 
Ninette,  not  seeing  this,  thinking  he  tried 
To  frighten  her  with  show  of  danger,  bade 
Him  yield  the  fight  if,  truly,  use  he  had 
For  butcher's  blade.   But  when  she  saw  the  tide 
Slow  reddening  down  the  white  of  his  bare  side, 
She  flew  to  fetch  the  silver-hilted  knife 
Swung  on  the  cabin  wall.     It  was  now  life 
Or  death.     Both  little  hands  on,  all  her  weight 
To  plunge  the  blade  in,  straight  it  went;  so 

straight, 

Just  back  of  Adolph's  body  as  he  held 
Round  Hector's  neck,  that  prone  the  brute  was 

felled. 
The  knight  fell  with  him. 


/  -£-- 


Side  by  side  they  lay, 
One  dead,  the  other — 'twas  too  soon  to  say. 

The  days  were  many  ere  she  let  him  speak, 

The  boy  she  held  from  death,  but  when,  still  weak, 

The  words  would  come,  then  fell  the  voice  of  all 

Voices  the  sweetest :  " l  He  must  fight,  ay,  fall, 

For  me/    In  sorry  truth,  it  has  been  done." 

She  smiling,  weeping,  answered,  "  Too  well  won." 

Never  before  the  wooing  birds  gave  ear 

So  close ;  for  never  melody  so  dear 

Was  heard  from  mountain  stream  or  mountain  bough. 

The  naiad's  heart  was  making  music,  now, 

And  happy  Adolph  answering, — "  Death  is  gone, 

Sweet;  I  remain;  and  here  will  I  woo  on 

Till  hale  again;  then  hence,  a  knight  well  tried, 

For  home,  my  lance  and  lady  at  my  side." 


SO  spoke  the  knightly  heart,  the  knightly  word 
Of  cheer.     But  one  there  was  that  overheard, 
One  all  forgot  in  their  full  joy,  his  heart 
Rankling  with  hatred,  he  whose  hellish  art 
Had  so  miscarried.    On  a  fateful  day 
The  two  had  wandered  to  the  ledges  gray, 
Under  the  "flying  bridge," — the  hanging  pine, 
With  roots  that  push  into  midair,  to  twine 
There,  gnarled  and  naked.    Adolph  thought  to  wind 
His  way  out.     At  the  moment,  close  behind, 
A  footfall  j  and,  as  sprung  up  from  the  ground, 
The  fiend  was  on  him.    Worn,  weak  with  a  wound — 
Nay,  't  is  too  horrible.    Let  us  hasten  here, 
As  is  the  vintage  children's  wont,  for  fear 
They  in  their  dreams  will  see  the  cruel  fight, 
See  Adolph,  all  but  lost,  summon  his  might, 
And  end  it ;  see  the  reptile  Cactus,  hurled, 
Writhing,  into  the  hungry  under-world. 

To  the  far-off  home  was  borne  the  mountain  bride. 


A  WILD,  rude  tale ;  and  true  ?  At  the  fireside 
Up  in  the  hills,  when  summertime  is  gone, 
And  heavily  the  autumn  rains  come  on, 
The  vintagers  oft  tell  it,  word  for  word, 
Drinking  huge  bumpers  to  the  "mountain- 
bird," 

Wishing  her  joy,  she  and  her  blue-eyed  knight ; 
And  full  as  heartily  they  cheer  the  flight 
Of  Cactus  down  the  gulf,  and  curse  his  bones, 
Left  to  the  vultures.     But  among  the  stones 
Under  the  pine,  where  all  the  summer  day 
The  vintage  children  sport  the  time  away, 
Is  oftener  told  the  gentle  afterpart 
Of  this  grim  Redwoods  story  j  and  the  heart 
Is  in  each  little  mouth  as,  one  by  one, 
They  wonder  how  the  miracle 
was  done. 


A  miracle  it  was:  when  next  the  flowers 

Came  out,  upon  a  day  of  golden  hours 

There  sprung,  among  the  rocks  around  the  pine, 

The  strangest,  loveliest  blossom  that  may  shine 

At  any  time,  in  any  place.     The  earth 

Has  not  another  like  it  5  for  its  birth 

Was  of  the  blood  of  her,  the  golden-haired, 

Slight  wounded  by  the  weapon  Cactus  bared, 

And  she  struck  from  him.     Never  tongue  shall  tell 

How  fair  the  flower  the  children  love  so  well, 

The  rare  rock-flower  —  one  for  each  drop  that  fell- 

They  pluck,  and  call  the  Golden  Lily-Bell. 


? 


i 


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114933 


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LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-50ra-9,'70(N9877s8)458 — A-31/5,6 


,4 


N?  880135 


PS1292  Cheney,  John  Vance,  1848- 

C5  Ninette.     A  Redwoods  idyll,  by  John  Vance  Cheney  ... 

N5          Illustrated  by  M.  Isabelle  Morrison.     San  Francisco, 
W.  Doxey,  1894. 

281.    illus.    23em. 

/i.  Title. 

21-18830 
Library  of  Congress  PS1292.CSN5 


